Butter Me Up
by pandanarchy
Summary: First of all, sorry for the category. There's no option for "Hell's Kitchen and Paula Deen's Cooking Show Crossover." I think that says it all. Rated M for smut. Prepare yourself for excessive butter use and a butter kink.
1. Chapter 1

Gordon Ramsey slammed his fist down on the bench top, causing the silverware to jump out of line. A vein was visible on his forehead, pulsing in time with his rapid, aggravated breathing and threatening to burst at any given moment. His scowl was deeper than Mariana's Trench as he regarded to dish being prepared in front of him, his expert eyes instantly picking out the slightest details that probably no one else would be bothered by.

"Paula Deen!" he roared, his excessively loud voice booming throughout the kitchen and bouncing off the tiled walls in a menacing echo. "What the fuck is this?" It was obviously a strain for him to keep his voice from breaking on that last word. His whole body was tense with anger, his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched dangerously.

Paula, understandably flustered, looked from her dish to Gordon and back again, her hands shaking slightly. She tried to remain calm, keeping her tone as flat as possible. "Now listen here.." That was her first mistake.

Gordon Ramsey was not a man who appreciated being talked down to. With a reaction like a whip cracking, Chef Ramsey's hand swiped across the bench, sending the mixing bowl in front of Paula hurtling into the wall several meters away. Glass shards sprayed in every direction, and Paula's eyes filled with tears as the golden liquid she'd worked so hard to prepare slowly dripped down the wall in winding tendrils.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Gordon continued, interrupting Paula's mourning. "You can't create a dish entirely out of butter, you fat fuck!" He was positively livid. This was the third dish Paula had ruined, and he had half a mind to throw her out of the kitchen.

But Paula Deen was just as stubborn as he was and she stood her ground, refusing to budge. Raising her voice to match his, she argued in response, "I ain't never met a Southerner that didn't enjoy his butter! You can't tell me you'd turn down a nice woman covered head to toe in glorious melted butter!"

From under the bench, Paula produced another metal bowl filled with melted butter, something she always tried to keep handy. Staring Gordon (who was speechless at this point) right in the eye, she licked her lips and proceeded to pour the warm, sticky liquid all over herself. Golden waves crashed over her platinum hair, flowed down her plump face, stained the front of her button-up shirt. It was like a disturbing parody of a shampoo advertisement, except that the product was probably not that good for your hair.

Paula Deen was out of control and Gordon Ramsey had never met a woman like her in his life. Something about the way the greasy butter clung to her curves really got the blood flowing to his nether regions. He deftly untied his apron and planted his hands on Paula's waist (or what he thought was her waist, I mean it was pretty hard to tell through all the layers of butter under her skin). Pulling Paula into a rough embrace, Gordon frantically and ungraciously slammed his lips against hers, desperate to taste those salty tears mixed with butter.

His tongue lapped at her cheeks while she giggled in her annoying accent and predictably had difficulty unzipping his pants. Eventually she managed to free his raging penis and, using butter as lubricant, she began to stroke his member none too gently. The woman could whisk like a sorcerer so let's just say she knew how to whip a man's cream.

Rocking his hips to match her strokes, the thought briefly passed through Gordon's mind that there were cameras surrounding them. They were supposed to be filming a new cooking show where they shared tips and secrets with each other, but instead Paula was just playing with his tip. He didn't have much time to worry about the sex tape leaking on the internet because DAMN that warm butter felt good on his pulsating cock.

Paula could sense Gordon was close so she began to jerk him more violently. She wanted to be in control of his climax, as her own way of dominating the kitchen. As he came gloriously, a steady fountain of dick milk, she timed her movements perfectly and saved all the semen in a bowl.

While Gordon was recovering, Paula silently rejoiced. It had all gone according to her plan and now she had a new ingredient to combine with her butter. She batted her eyelashes at the cameras, her glassy blue eyes staring off into the distance. "I hope y'all like custard," was her final remark, followed by a short cackle.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a special kind of woman to a) stand up to Gordon Ramsey's verbal violence and b) jerk him off. But Paula Deen had managed to do both.

Gordon watched Paula's work, entranced by her movements and the way her shirt stretched around her plump stomach as she leant over the bench to reach for the container of caster sugar. He sat perched on a wobbly stool, unfamiliar with the domestic surroundings. His elbows polished the bench top and his chin rested in his hands, his watery eyes never wavering from Paula. Her hands were a blur of precision as she combined her dry ingredients in her favourite mixing bowl. Her brow was deeply furrowed in concentration as she tried to remember the exact method her great-grandmother had passed down through the generations.

For the first time in his life, Gordon was able to sit in a kitchen without yelling. And it was all thanks to the lovely soothing effects of Paula, or more specifically it was all thanks to the unmentionable sexual deeds they exchanged.

Regardless, the atmosphere in the kitchen was surprisingly pleasant. The stove was giving off a warm orange glow, heating up the room as it baked the over-glazed roast chicken. Sticky and succulent, it peered out at Gordon and Paula through the grease-smeared glass of the oven door, almost as if it was spying on them. Almost as if a fibre optic camera had been secretly installed in its little chicken bum-hole while nobody had been watching. The producers were expecting things to get steamy in the kitchen again today (as they so often did) so they'd slyly prepared for more interesting camera work. If you were going to make a cooking/porn show you might as well do it well.

"Gordon, dear, I need your help with desert," Paula sung out, her nasally voice grating to the ears. Gordon visibly winced. She insisted on calling him that even though he'd repeatedly asked her not to. Some women just didn't get it. She was really starting to get on his nerves. Still, he gave the Kitchen Goddess his full and undivided attention, scooting around to the other side of the bench to meet her needs - because he knew what needs she needed met.

Immediately, without consideration of her surroundings, Paula's hands flew to Gordon's crotch like a hungry pig diving into a trough full of slops. She licked her lips with greedy anticipation and her beady eyes gleamed as she took his limp dick in hand. A hint of silver gleamed at the tip of his cock, catching her off guard. She frowned and peered a little closer. It was...a dick piercing? Yes, there was no mistaking it. Red, swollen and inflamed, it was a fresh Prince Albert piercing (Paula had a secret fetish for genital piercings so she knew all about this kind of thing). She was amazed, bewildered even, that Gordon hadn't told her he'd had it done. It wasn't as if she'd never find out.

A small smile curved at the edges of her thin, cracked lips as a dark thought danced through Paula's head. Gordon, now totally tame and blissfully ignorant (who knew all these years he just needed to get some), continued to stand there with his hands in his pockets, waiting for the blowjob that had just been derailed. Paula had a new plan. She winked at him sensually, her long false eyelashes tickling her makeup caked cheek, and she turned away momentarily to rummage around in her cupboards. As she bent down, however, Gordon unexpectedly tried to mount her, clearly misunderstanding the situation. She let out a mighty shriek and he shrieked in response and suddenly the kitchen timer was ringing and the kitchen was enveloped in a crescendo of screaming and buzzing for a good four and a half minutes.

Recomposing themselves and regaining their professionalism, Gordon and Paula collaboratively finished off the final touches for the main course. But Paula still needed to finish the desert and now they were running out of time. This time making sure Gordon could control himself, Paula produced from the cupboard a small gas bottle with a flexible hose attached to it. She grinned, exposing her needle-like fangs. Gordon was a little apprehensive and needed to be encouraged to step closer, but he gave in eventually.

Connecting the nozzle of the hose to Gordon's dick piercing was the easiest part. The hard part, the part she always struggled with, was lighting a match. She sparked the flame up and held it to the tip of Gordon's member. As soon as the match neared the steady stream of gas a tongue of fire streaked across the kitchen. Paula cackled with glee, commenting under her breath repeatedly about how awesome this was, and she'd sure proved them wrong.

Gordon was shaking his head slowly, feeling the muscles knot in his stomach. His throat felt dry and his chest felt extremely heavy. For one thing, he couldn't believe he'd agreed to do this, and for another he really needed to yell. The fact that he hadn't yelled at anyone all day was building up inside him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. While he watched Paula bring the small round bowls to his crotch, he finally realised what she was doing.

Carefully, she held the dishes to the flame, toasting the tops of what appeared to be crème brulee. A smile touched Gordon's mouth and he felt immensely proud, excited to each such a fine desert despite the fact that he knew it would taste like a solid bar of burnt butter. But the nice thought was that Paula had tried.

Her hands hovering so close to his penis made his thoughts run a little too wild though. His cock twitched slightly and the flame veered off to the side, suddenly out of control. Paula screeched and jerked her hand backwards, narrowly avoiding being burnt by Gordon's fire breathing ding dong. The bowl she was holding was not so lucky. Her grip failed her and the bowl went flying out of her taloned hands, shattering on the floor and oozing melted butter across the tiles.

That was the final straw. Gordon drew in a deep breath and gripped his love stick firmly in both hands. "How could you ruin a perfectly good dish, you ultimate ninny!" he yelled violently, his voice turning hoarse. He aimed his (still blazing) crotch in Paula's direction and continued to yell. "I was looking forward to blowjobs and crème brulee and now you've taken BOTH OF THOSE THINGS AWAY FROM ME! HOW COULD YOU!"

Paula dove forwards into a roll, tucking her head to her knees and landing safely out of harms way. She snarled, baring her fangs and brandishing her manicured nails as if they were filed to points - oh wait, they WERE filed to points. She hissed at Gordon. Last time things had gone so well and he'd even been lulled into a false sense of security. She'd thought this time would work without complications, but she supposed life just wasn't that easy. He was quickly becoming independent again, and that wasn't a good thing.

Meanwhile the cameras were still rolling. The chicken butt camera had achieved a nice panty shot of Paula. The producers couldn't ask for better television than this. Next week they would air the Final Showdown: Paula Deen VS Gordon Ramsey.


End file.
